Two To
by FFFG
Summary: Zoro and Sanji are in this stupid competition together. Only two more weeks will determine whether or not they'll kill one another or be driven insane. AU, OneShot, ZoSan. Written for the ZoSan Valentines Exchange on tumblr. Happy V-Day eyerispez!


**A/N: Howdy all! This was written for the ZoSan Valentines Exchange, specifically for eyerispez, who's challenge for me was the tango! I actually have no clue how dancing works, nor do I actually watch television, so basically everything here is based off of Google and YouTube searches. Hope it's to your enjoyment eyerispez! Happy Valentine's Day!**

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Sanji slammed the door to his dressing room. He was furious with that bumbling, green-haired moron they had the gall to pair him with. Surely, as the star in this pairing, he should have had a choice as to whom he would dance with.

A quick flick of his lighter and a deep inhale later, Sanji started listing off the steps to his favorite cake recipe in attempt to calm down. He paced agitatedly for a few moments before throwing himself into the cushions of the small chaise the studio had provided him with.

He pulled another drag on his cigarette as he went over the disaster that was their latest rehearsal. The idiot kept turning to the left when he was meant to be reaching his arm over to catch Sanji and dip him. The resulting lack of support sent Sanji crashing to the floor and the grass-headed idiot, without Sanji's counter weight, spinning and almost stepping on the celebrity chef.

"How that graceless moron is a dancer I'll never know." Sanji murmured to himself. He had almost finished his cigarette before a tentative knock sounded on his door. Sanji grumbled permission for whatever hapless lackey the studio sent over to smooth his ruffled feathers to enter. The small, pink haired boy with tacky glasses opened the door cautiously and entered the room, near hiding behind his oversized clipboard.

"Excuse me, Mr. LeNoir," the poor boy managed to say without stuttering, even if he was shaking like a leaf. "The studio has asked when you will be returning to the set so we can film more of the practice."

Sanji nearly bit the filter off the burning stub in his mouth. "Tell the Studio," Sanji pantomimed air quotations around 'studio' and continued, "that I'll be willing to return when they are willing to replace that barbarian in ballet slippers with a competent dancer."

The poor gopher, Kory, or something along those lines stared firmly at his clipboard and bit his lip as he screwed up his courage. "We've – we've had this dis-discussion before, Mr. LeNoir. You were cast with Mr. Roronoa for the ratings, and the studio isn't going to change that at this late a date."

Ah yes, the ratings…

Sanji expelled the last breath of smoke from his lungs and crushed the smoldering remains of the cigarette in the ashtray on the side table. He sat still and stared momentarily at the ceiling as he thought over the circumstances that had led him here.

This two-bit show, which was once one of the best in the "Reality TV" category, had done so many seasons that interest had waned, and the ratings had dropped. The marketing execs decided that they would give the traditional formula a few twists in attempt to keep them from being cancelled.

Thus a casting call was made to the praised, young, devilishly handsome (if he did say so himself) celebrity chef. Sanji knew he was fairly recognizable while not being an A-list superstar, and thus still within the show's budget. As he was well-known for being bi-sexual, the executives asked if it would be alright if they could pair him with one of the male professionals for the show's duration.

Sanji had mulled over the decision for a while, trying to decide whether or not he could take time off from his restaurant and cooking show to film the newest season. He asked some of his closest friends whether or not he should. Some were against it, saying it would sully his reputation. Others were for it, saying he could get his face out to a broader audience, and hopefully gain some new followers for his own show.

Sanji was torn for a while, but had ultimately succumbed to the idea. Really, the chance to flex his neglected muscles and capture the hearts of more followers was enough of a pull to get him to sign the contract. The money was just an added bonus.

He was introduced to the guy the higher ups had paired him with. At first Sanji wasn't sure how he landed the gorgeous man, all defined muscle and chiseled jaw, as his "professional". Then the muscle head opened his mouth and it was history in the making.

Foul attitude, sneering countenance and a disdain for any and all of the 'celebrities' the show hitched him with. Needless to say it set Sanji's teeth grinding and he regretted his decision ever since. Only now he was contractually obligated to perform, and have all those damnable rehearsals filmed. The only way to back out now, without losing any and all manly pride, would be getting injured. Sanji was almost at the point where faking an injury would be preferable than having to deal with that inadequate idiot.

Watching the pink haired boy shaking in fear of Sanji's (admittedly volatile) temper, he reminded himself that he got himself into this mess, and that he shouldn't be taking it out on this poor kid. He gave a rather overdone sigh and waved mindlessly at the youth. "Tell them I'll be back in ten."

With an audible gulp the boy turned and ran from the dressing room as fast as he could scamper. Sanji laid his head back on the seat cushion and closed his eyes as he recounted the list of desserts, in alphabetical order, that he was writing for his newest cookbook. By the time he reached "quatre-quarts", he felt he was calm enough to face the next few grueling hours of filming.

Lighting one last smoke, Sanji made his way to the studio that had been designated for him and his inept partner. He mindlessly ground the filter into the carpet as his last little rebellion against the studio, took a deep breath, and pushed the doors open to face the music.

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ZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSan

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Zoro was grinding his teeth as he watched the blond drama queen rage his way out of the practice hall and off to who-knows-where. There were times when he wished he could just 'accidentally' fall and crush the prissy cook beneath him. If Chef Boyardee broke a rib he'd be out of the competition and out of Zoro's hair once and for all.

Then Zoro would remember the money he would be losing out on. Not to mention the prestige of being a finalist once again. So far he had the highest record of wins with his various celebrity fall-downs. Robin was close behind him though, a fact that drove him to excel as much as possible. He'd never forgive himself if he lost that top spot. Even if it meant he had to put up with that annoying cook-cum-celebrity that thought he could dance better than a man who'd dedicated himself to the art.

The problem was the retard kept trying to dip too early. The dance Zoro had choreographed had the moron spinning out, back in, side stepping and THEN dipping. The idiot just didn't seem to understand that. He kept trying to lead when he had no business doing so.

Zoro heaved a sigh and massaged his temples with one hand. To the left of him he heard Johnny, one of the cameramen, sidle up to get a good shot of his face. When Zoro refused to react or say any more on the subject Johnny backed away.

It was only a matter of time, after all. The second Mr. Fancy-Pants left the hall to rage, one of the studio's little twerps chased after him to, most likely, bring him back to finish the session. Zoro went over the routine in his head once again to see if he could simplify it any more for the rhythmically challenged dolt. It really was a testament to his skill that he could pull so many of these useless celebrity clowns to the final round of the competition.

As it was, he and the royal pain in his ass had managed to lumber along to week eight together. Most of that was probably because of the fanfare around them being the only same gendered couple to dance in the show's history. It was a gimmick, a ploy the execs were using to try and gain back some of the audience that had strayed to newer and more exciting (well, let's be honest: equally mindless) programs. It was working.

Since the first show he and the curly-browed menace were fan favorites. Reviews of all kinds attributed their popularity to everything from their looks and intensity on the dance floor, to the now famous behind-the-scenes battles that were highlighted in almost every episode. Zoro blamed it on the general perverseness of the watching public.

Granted, when he first saw the chef he was to whip into shape his eyes lingered over the endless legs he would get to work with: long, slender and with a lingering sense of flexibility. Then the brainless slop-slinger lit up a smoke and gave him one of those condescending looks that Zoro couldn't stand. All of these celebrity fools thought they were so much better than other people, and that made Zoro's hackles rise.

So he had reacted like he always had: sarcasm and disrespect. And, just like every other joker Zoro was made to deal with, the superior smirk fell off that handsome face and contempt took its place. Zoro loved it when he pushed them so far as to actually say, "how dare you!" Ah, sweet music to his ears.

In the weeks that followed Zoro dealt with more of the same; temper-tantrums and whining when he pushed the haughty prince to the point where he was barely competent. There were times when Zoro could admit that the leggy blond had real potential, but those were few and far between. Still, his original assessment wasn't too far off, the man WAS flexible.

Their performances were always charged with energy. While mostly that worked in their favour, as the judges always complimented the synchronicity with which they danced, Zoro and that snooty nuisance knew the truth. This was more than just a show; this was a damnable competition between them to prove who really was better.

They both KNEW Zoro was the better dancer. Again, he WAS the professional. The cook though, he was determined to prove he could be just as capable with minimum direction. Unfortunately for Zoro he could respect that drive to excel, and would (begrudgingly) admit that he was more adept at picking up the moves than most of the other sorry excuses he had dealt with over the years.

If only the bull headed idiot could accept criticism without taking it as some personal slight, Zoro thought they might actually have gotten along. Every other useless tit he had the misfortune of dancing with on this waste of airtime knew better than to argue with him when it came to the performances. Either that or they were more conscious of the cameras rolling and were playing to them like the phonies that they were.

The cook though…

Zoro had taken a night to actually watch an episode or two of the pompous airhead's show. The man was all passion. Every move, every word, the man teemed with it, infusing every facet of himself with fire. If Zoro spat acid at him, the blonde would reciprocate with twice as much. Insult for insult, gesture for gesture the cook challenged Zoro's patience in a way no other had before; and damn him if it wasn't a rush.

He'd never connected with any of the other partners he'd been given before. Most were either too vain to see past their reflections, or were only interested in generating a 'buzz' to inflate their meager status. Well, that's not entirely true. Nami, the weather woman from the national news station two seasons ago, they'd had a great time. Probably one of the only people he'd ever met who could keep up with him in a drinking contest and still be up bright and early for rehearsal the next day.

They'd only kept in touch so far because they lived in the same town and Zoro was sure she was using him as an excuse to get closer to Rob. Since the first time they'd met Nami had an (in Zoro's opinion) unhealthy interest in his fellow dancer. Every competition night Nami would wander over to Rob and his (then) partner Califa and strike up a conversation.

She was pretty easy to hang with, and while Zoro thought she was as close to a witch as he'd ever met, they were good friends. There were no romantic entanglements there, despite what rag-mags claimed. And while he could easily have seen himself hooking up with her, he'd rather keep his money and his balls.

Sanji, though. Damn if he couldn't just envision the time they'd have if left to their own devices. He had, in fact, most nights after they competed. There was little more thrilling than a perfect score. A perfect score with that bastard riling him up, pressing every button and matching him move for move; that was exhilarating.

Speaking of his personal paradox, there's the cocky bastard now. Skulking back into the practice room, smelling strongly of smoke and with a look on his face that screamed, "I'm keeping my temper, so you'd better behave." Zoro wondered how long it would take for him to get from 'clenched jaw' to 'hair pulling'. He guessed about four corrections.

"Done with your lifestyle break, princess?" Zoro couldn't help but ask. He knew, down to the very marrow of his bones, that the blond couldn't stand that tone of voice; probably why he used it as often as he could.

Sanji went from 'clenched jaw' to 'closed fist' immediately. Zoro's smirk wasn't helping matters, but then again, half of their popularity was with the practice-room verbal spats they always devolved into. Johnny and Yosaku had their cameras trained on both of them as Sanji slowly walked closer to Zoro, fists held tightly to his sides.

"Go over the blocking again, shit for brains." He ground out. Zoro's smug countenance dropped as he got down to business. Explaining slowly he moved throughout the dance step by step, move for move. Adjusting Sanji's gait if he stepped to wide, holding up a leg or arm so that Sanji could get the feel for where he needed to be, and tilting the angle of that stupidly handsome face. Zoro left no aspect of the dance untouched.

Even the costumes they were going to be wearing that Friday Zoro had a hand in designing. He'd met early yesterday with Usopp to get the artist to sketch out what Zoro asked for. He'd dropped the sketches to Kin'emon to be fashioned by Thursday so that they could have their dress rehearsal run through at least a day before the rest of the competition.

Zoro's heavy handedness for this particular week, this particular dance, was all because of the genre: Tango. Normally the tango was such a gender biased, profoundly machismo dance. He knew that, the judges certainly knew that, so he needed to step up his game to get the top score.

He had always skated by on the tango. Normally he just went with relatively tame choreography for this dance. The reason being that so many of the celebrities thought they knew this dance already and would try all the more to give Zoro 'advice' on what they should do.

They knew nothing. Tango was more than just leg kicks and staring into the other's face. There was history to this dance, a story to it. It wasn't just migrant fusion or smelly gauchos; it was an art where a man displayed a woman's beauty and grace. And while the dumb cook had both in spades, he couldn't just run par for the course with him. There needed to be a true display of skill. Zoro had to up the ante.

Zoro queued up the music they would be dancing to in preparation of starting real time run-throughs. They'd gone over the blocking for the past hour and the prissy prima donna had managed to keep to the steps Zoro outlined. He was going to start speeding things up now and putting the blond through his paces.

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ZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSan

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Sanji gulped down water greedily as he watched the brute stumble over to the music system. They'd run through this stupid dance for the past hour and a half with those irritating cameras in his face. Sanji was about ten-seconds away from smacking that tattooed dick-bag of a cameraman if he came any closer.

The loud, quick beats of La Cumparsita started blaring through the sound system. Moss-for-brains had told Sanji which song he was planning of dancing to and, just like every week, advised him to download it and listen to it so he would have a feel for it when the time came to dance. Sanji had done so and was confident he could sing the damn song back to him if he so desired.

"We're going to start going over the tricky part in the middle. I want to get that part down before we move onto the easier stuff." The dumbass explained. Sanji took another quick gulp of water before rising up to meet his dancer in the middle of the room.

They came together, chests close with the pickled prick's leading left hand clutching Sanji's right. Together they stepped in time to the beat, walking Sanji backwards with short, quick dragging steps. Suddenly Sanji was turned around so that his back pressed against a brawny chest. Sanji threw his arms into the air as he had been instructed and had to hold back a blush as the ape pantomimed undoing a button that was non-existent on his workout clothes. He brought his arms down sharply, as though offended by the act and effectively separating the two.

Sanji then turned to face his partner, both had their hands going to the pockets of their respective pants, and Sanji leaned forward and touched his forehead to Zoro's. This was the only point of contact between them as they followed the next six bars of music in a strange show off that the muscle head had described as a "fight for dominance." The "fight" ended with a spin that kept their heads still together throughout, but had Sanji as the victor as Zoro immediately began stepping back with Sanji closely following.

Hands left pockets and rejoined with Sanji now leading the dance. He could readily admit that he loved these opportunities. It wasn't often he was allowed to lead so openly. This dance, however, was filled with both of them trading the lead back and forth. It was thrilling.

Several steps and kicks later saw Sanji setting up for the only bit of acrobatics where he was to be the support for the moss-haired man. Typically it was Sanji who was draped around the tall pillar of muscles and displayed as the treat for the audience. This time, however, he was going to be the one carrying the other man. Tensing the muscles in his legs in anticipation of the weight he was about to take on Sanji pivoted sharply to the left and, with a shifting of both of their weights, braced the green-haired dancer as he swung up to the right and hung suspended in the air at shoulder height.

Half a second later he came back to Earth where Sanji was waiting to catch him and led the inelegant bastard into a dip. Success!

By some mutual and unspoken command, both stopped dancing there and stood. The dancing dick quickly paused the music and came back to give Sanji his critique.

"Overall that was okay for a first run through. You're going to need to be tighter on the turn with the heads and you need to quit arcing your leg so high when you kick, but otherwise not bad."

That was it? Normally there was a pit of acid spewing from the other man about his performance. Clearly his expression said SOMETHING to the other man as he rushed to further explain his comments.

"The kicks shouldn't be going so high. It's throwing off your timing. The higher you go, the longer it takes to get your legs back down. While it's not every day I have to argue with someone about kicking TOO high, with you it seems to be a chronic problem.

Coming from another source, Sanji might have been flattered. This ass-hat, however, guaranteed that Sanji would take it as a personal affront.

"Funny how you always seem to bring up 'chronic problems' that I have. Now my kicks are too much for your delicate dancer's constitution?"

Sanji watched the shade of red deepen from 'exertion' to 'anger' on the other man's face. Good. If Sanji was going to be criticized he wanted everyone around him to feel slighted right along with him.

"Damned asshole!" the green menace spat. "There is such a thing as constructive criticism, you know that? Stop taking every little thing I say like I'm blasting insults about your mom."

"Now you want to bring my mother into this?" Sanji threw right back. If the bastard wanted to start in on genetics or parents he'd find Sanji loaded with material at the ready.

Instead of starting a bickering match though, the idiot just grabbed his hair in frustration and circled back to the music system. "We're doing it again. Watch your kicks, tighten the circle." He ground out between clenched teeth.

"Like hell we are. I'm going out for a 'chronic problem' break. We've been at this for almost two hours and I need a chance to look at some green not growing from your ugly mug." Sanji turned without waiting for a response and strut through the doors outside. He could see in the reflection of the glass the little spasm of irritation the other man's body flew into and smiled around the filter of his cigarette.

_Too easy._

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ZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSan

* * *

After the unscheduled break, the blond returned to the hall without a studio toady having to go collect him. They managed to get in some steady practice with only a few arguments interrupting the flow. Zoro felt, for the most part, that the dance was coming along fairly well, and they just might make something show worthy together. At the very least he knew he would win points for originality.

After all, the tango was a dance for the lead to show their partner's best assets. Zoro was certainly showcasing his partner's assets, along with a few of his own, but the challenge here was that since both of them were men, the audience, and ultimately the judges, were going to be watching for the traditional roles. Zoro was doing his best to throw that concept out the window. Both he and Sanji were men, and neither would take to the traditional roles well.

So Zoro had choreographed a war. He and the dining diva would fight over that top spot, would throw those conventional dynamics away in favor of a performance that would linger in memories for years to come.

They wrapped up the session with an extra 15 minutes of film for the studio to edit at their whim. Most likely the arguments would make it to the show instead of the 'boring' footage of practice. Whatever. As long as he got the public vote he didn't care. Bag packed, Zoro turned to the curly-brow with an open hand.

"Good practice, for the most part. We're going out for drinks, you're always invited." And he always was. Zoro had extended the offer every night after practice when there was a meet up planned by the dancers and their partners. The cook had yet to join them for the ritual. As it was the pampered chef looked down at Zoro's extended hand with a face that practically screamed 'piss off.'

"Thanks but no thanks. I've got shit to do." Without any other words, or even taking Zoro's outstretched hand, the blond turned and headed out the doors with a half-hearted wave. Zoro retracted his hand and watched the other man walk away; glad the cameras were gone so there would be no evidence of him watching the sway of those enticing hips.

"More for me." He uttered to no one. Hiking the bag over his shoulder, Zoro headed back to his own apartment where he got ready for a night out on the town.

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ZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSan

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Sanji tried not to rush as he walked out on the other man and his offer. He'd love to agree and go out, but he just couldn't trust himself to drink around that bastard. Doubtlessly he would make an ass out of himself and lose what little respect he'd earned from the dancer.

That or he'd try to kiss him, and he couldn't have that either.

So far their verbal sparring had kept any gossip about a love interest between the two out of the magazines. Their genuine dislike for each other had convinced everyone that there was nothing between them. It was a problem Sanji had caught on to when he was deciding whether or not to join the show. There was always some speculation about any relationship between celebrities and their partners.

Luckily enough the dim-witted dancer and he got along like a grease fire and water, a fact that attributed to their popularity. So there were no raunchy news stories being fabricated about them that would affect Sanji's own show or ratings. He was trying to keep his name in the clear during this whole debacle and was, so far, succeeding.

That being said, he sometimes couldn't help but wish there was something going on. The chance to have that chiseled body beneath him, or above him, or behind him, or really in any position his addled mind could come up with, enflamed his thoughts every damn night after practice. It wasn't his fault, really. He'd dealt with the man's hands on him for hours and hours, directing Sanji where to go with nothing more satisfying than a stretch to show for it. He'd love to show that Disco Dru what he could really do in terms of the horizontal mambo.

What was wrong with him? Sure the guy looked amazing, and maybe his voice could cause Sanji's knees to weaken if used in the right tone. And granted Sanji had imagined all sorts of moves the dancer could do to him with that strong, toned and tanned body that was built like a – NO!

Not again. He would not go home hard again. He would not jerk off to the memory of the man's hands on him, his voice in his ear, his hips swinging, his hands reaching, his ass… NO DAMMIT NO!

Sanji stopped for a brief moment to light up a cigarette. Breathing out the smoke he stared up to the darkening sky. He really wanted this show over and done with. Maybe then he could take up the marimo on his offer to go out. Maybe see what could come out of it then.

Until then Sanji would just have to make do with ignoring the problem (or when that proved impossible, take matters into his own hands.)

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ZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSan

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The next two days ran past in a flurry of practices, quick meals and faster music. Kin'emon dropped by late Thursday morning to drop off the costumes Zoro had ordered. He threw one bag at the blond and took the other into the small room at the back of the hall to change into.

By the time the chef returned from his changing room, Zoro had donned the suit Kin'emon had put together. Well-tailored black slacks clung tight to his hips but left enough room for manoeuvring. The English-cut jacket was fastened, barely showing off the pressed shirt underneath, and decorated with subtle embroidery was only noticed when light hit the darker stitching just right.

All in all Zoro was pleased with Kin'emon's work; he usually was. That man had a gift when it came to costumes. Zoro tried hard not to let his gaze linger too long over the chef, lest his lecherous thoughts be known. He knew the ponce would look good – that WAS the point after all – but if he stopped to admire the man properly, Zoro knew he'd be in trouble.

So Zoro queued up the music, motioned to the centre of the dance floor and held his arms stiffly behind his back, waiting for one well-dressed wimp to get into position. Once he was there Zoro flicked the play button on the music system's remote. Quickly pocketing the controller Zoro held his left arm aloft with the third beat.

Following the unspoken command Sanji walked in time to Zoro's side, only to stop just shy of Zoro's reach. Waiting for two more beats Zoro took an embellished step towards the blond, hooked his left arm around Sanji's waist and captured his left hand in Zoro's right. Together they moved, Zoro leading the pair back with sharp, even steps.

The duo moved in synchronicity, sweeping a circle in the middle of the dance floor. At the first real juncture in the music his partner spun himself out of Zoro's arms and, when he started to spin back in, Zoro shifted his weight to the right foot and caught the swirly-browed cook by the waist. He lifted him to shoulder height only for the flexible man to splay himself over Zoro's shoulder and lay back-to-back with the dancer, his legs poised artfully to the side of Zoro's neck. Zoro spun twice with the leggy blond held securely, one arm providing a counter to those deceptively strong legs, the other grasping the man's right arm, which had curled itself around Zoro's waist.

However, instead of dropping his partner to the front, as would be expected, Zoro let loose the other man's legs and Sanji slithered to the floor behind Zoro, catching himself into a handstand and pulling his legs, one at a time, to stand near bent in half until rising with a flourish.

Then, with a loud crash of brass booming from the speakers the chef pressed on the dancer's right shoulder, and Zoro exaggerated the turn with arms rising, only to be caught by Sanji and immediately led into the next set.

_So far so good. _

The blond was keeping time as Zoro found himself being led around the floor with a confidence not unexpected. Zoro was not fond of letting the lead go to a less experienced dancer, but the cook held firm, stepped with conviction and gave the most rakish grin Zoro had ever seen when he knew he was doing everything right.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Zoro forced his attention back to the dance. There was a mis-step there, something he'd have to bring up during post-dance discussion. The bratty blond set up for the slow lunges and Zoro readied himself for another switch in lead. The next part would bring them technicality points so Zoro sharpened his focus to pay attention to every step.

After rising from the lunge Zoro released their hands and took Sanji's grip from his waist and forced the other man into a spin. When his other half stopped Zoro quickly took up the lead and danced the duo into a tight circle of ochos, long steps, and kicks so sharp they could cut. The footwork here was some of the most complex Zoro had ever choreographed. He knew the peacock got off on a challenge and damn if he wasn't rising to meet every expectation.

Left, right, partner cross left, ocho, right, kick. On and on, for several long bars of music their torsos remained staccato while their feet did all of the talking for them. Zoro pushed forwards. _I want you_. Sanji pivoted and kicked behind himself. _It's not that easy_. Zoro sent them into a windmill. _I'm not afraid of a challenge_. Sanji stepped closer into Zoro's space. _I'm more than you can handle_.

The duo was approaching the next shift in lead. Zoro spun the lithe figure around and pulled him tight against his chest. The other man's arms flew into the air as Zoro's encircled him and playfully pulled the two buttons holding his vest together apart.

Zoro's arms were suddenly jolted from the man's clothes by a swift cutting motion. A red faced chef turned on him and pressed their foreheads together. Zoro's hands automatically fell back to his pockets, but he decided in that moment to only hook his thumbs into the space and that the rest of his fingers should splay over his hips. He made a mental note to tell the enticing entertainer to do the same.

Together they shifted back and forth with only an intense stare and a brief touch of the heads connecting them. At the bandoneon's flourish they spun and Zoro broke the stalemate, stepping back, Sanji in hot pursuit. The celebrity took up the lead once more and commanded Zoro about the floor: pushing him down into quick dips, spiralling about with almost dizzying speed, crossing their steps in an impressive display of footwork. Sanji was a little faster than the music, another point of discussion for later.

Still they came to Zoro's lift soon enough. The snob snapped his hips to the left, Zoro held his breath as he vaulted into the air, hung suspended and then crashed back to Earth in a controlled spin that left him staring up into blue eyes.

Zoro hung still in the dip for another two beats before being pulled up into his partner's chest. He felt hands inside his jacket slip up to his shoulders and abruptly pull it open and to his elbows. Stepping free of those wandering hands, Zoro shucked the jacket and crashed back into Sanji, wresting the lead once more. Together they dance in a clipped circle, twisting their steps around one another, crossing legs into one another's space and small kicks and flourishes going behind each man or in between the other's legs as the choreography decreed.

Zoro spun and lowered his partner down, whose left leg slipped out throughout the turns in a provocative display. The twit was then wrenched back up and splayed across Zoro's chest, hands behind Zoro's neck and feet held flat against Zoro's legs. Zoro held tight to the blond's waist and kept him supported as the music began to slow.

Sanji stepped down and away from Zoro's chest and they remained facing the same direction for a few lingering beats. When Zoro moved to reclaim his partner Sanji spun quickly, grabbed Zoro and threw him back into a dramatic dip that held Zoro suspended only a scant few inches off the ground. The music came to an end as they held the tableau, panting their quickened breaths.

After the requisite three seconds, and one more for good measure, Sanji helped Zoro to stand. Zoro loved the last minute spectacle of the dance. They had traded the lead so often but still with Zoro dominating throughout. That last defiance matched the fiery chef's personality perfectly and he hoped it would land them the win despite the unconventional routine.

He watched the curly browed idiot walk over to the wall where his bottle of water sat out of the way. The costume looked no worse for wear despite all of the cook's contortions. That was always something he needed to remind Kin'emon about; making Sanji's costumes look right while still maintaining manoeuvrability. It wasn't every day you needed proper men's slacks that could withstand a standing splits.

The vest was still open from their performance and his hair was a little damp from the exertion. Zoro had to look away before he started really taking in the details. That would lead him down a troublesome path he didn't have the time to deal with right now.

The shit cook picked up his pack of cigarettes and motioned to the door that led outside. Zoro nodded and took the opportunity to go over his mental notes of the dance. It wasn't a perfect run through, but it was much better than any other time they had gone through a dress rehearsal for the first time. He'd share his thoughts when the blond returned.

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ZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSanZoSan

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Sanji took a cigarette out of the pack and lit up gratefully. Damn, that was one hell of a dance. They'd run through it before, of course, however, it never felt right unless everything was in place: costumes, music, and stupidly handsome dance instructor.

He let out a cloud of smoke as he went over the dance in his head. He knew it hadn't been perfect. There were a couple times when he stepped the wrong way, and he knew Zoro was about ready to ream him for that last dip. The way the prancing prick had looked at him at the end made Sanji feel like there was a chasm that was about to swallow him whole. He simply had to escape before then, needed to calm himself down before facing the unreasonably attractive man.

There was no way it should be legal for another man to look like he did, sound like he did, MOVE like he did without giving something up. Oh, the personality was left wanting, but Sanji couldn't help but be drawn to that as well.

_Deep breath in, deep breath out. _

Looking down at himself, Sanji quickly refastened the buttons on the vest that had been made. He traced his fingers along the soft material and brought back the sensation of Zoro unbuttoning the clothing. _Deep breath in._

His mind flipped immediately to when he got the chance to run his hands up over that ridiculously chiselled chest and practically ripped the jacket off of those broad shoulders. _Deep breath out._

He was so fucked.

Sanji threw the filter on the ground and lit up a second cig. He needed to calm down and stop thinking about Zoro's hands… all over his body. Sanji shook his head and strengthened his resolve. He WOULD stop thinking about his dance partner's hands/face/body and he WOULD go back in there and take his lumps like a real man. He WOULD go over the dance as many times as needed to get everything perfect for tomorrow's contest and they WOULD win.

"Oi, asshole! You done with your breath of poisoned air yet? I'm not going to lose this competition because you can't go ten minutes without killing yourself slowly."

Sanji found himself suddenly grinding the cigarette filter between clenched teeth. Okay, new plan. He WOULD go and kick that moss-headed bastard's head in, bitch in his stupid face for ten minutes, run away to his dressing room to finish calming down, and then go along with the rest of plan A. Good plan.

Sanji turned towards the dance studio, flicking the burning mess over his shoulder, and took a deep breath fully preparing for the argument to ensue. His last lingering thoughts being that there were only two weeks left of this stupid show, and then he could take Zoro up on his offer to go out for drinks.

Two weeks couldn't go fast enough.

~Fin~

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**A/N: Ta-dah! My first piece of writing in 14 years. Beta'd by (the incredible, remarkable, amazing and fantabulous) BlackBarBooks! (read her stuff! No seriously, go check for updates or something.)**

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